


i crippled your heart a hundred times

by bravest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crying Dean, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest/pseuds/bravest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night Castiel comes to Dean and says three words he wasn't ready to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you must be a masochist to love a modern leper

"I love you."

Dean blinks, opens his mouth, blinks again, and closes it. The air caught in his throat feels a million years old. Cas is looking right at him, standing in his sweat pants that tug too low on his hips, that spill over his feet and under his heels. Wearing one of Dean's old t-shirts, worn thin and frayed at the edges.

Dean feels like the floor has just been swept from under his feet, and he looks at Cas just to have some steady focus point, something to look at that grounds him.

(Cas is always that thing, isn't he? Tied to him by something akin to gravity, always hovering, even when not in sight.

If Dean is the Earth, Cas is the moon.)

Had the circumstances been different Dean would have rolled with this, said something like  _yeah, you know I love you too, buddy, you're part of the family_ , but it's the middle of the night and he couldn't sleep so he'd gotten up to...just to  _do_ , something, anything, and as he sat at the table with one of the little lamps on, amusing himself by spelling words with re-heated alphabet soup, Cas had come to stand at the doorway and watched him in silence for a few minutes.

Then had spoken the words.

Too easily for it to be easy. Too casually for it not to be anything. His gaze pinning Dean down in his chair with the weight of it, with the  _meaning_  of it.

They're a gunshot to the chest.

"What?" He wheezes at last, ashes in his mouth, acid in his throat.

"I just wanted you to know that," Castiel says, and then turns and disappears down the hall.

Dean feels like something has been ripped from him, right out of his gut, carved out with an ice pick of anxiety and terror and also a strange sense of wrongness. A voice that says this made no sense, that Castiel should know better, that Dean can't have known something that isn't true rings in his ears. He feels an intense desire to catch Cas and tell him he's wrong, that he doesn't love him, that he's confused because of this newly human thing, that really they do have kind of a strong bond but it isn't  _love_. It can't be.

(Could it?)

At first, he doesn't stop to consider what he, himself, Dean Winchester, feels. He sits there, dumbfounded, and tries to straighten his world view. The gravity has shifted and the moon has been pulled closer and now the tides of his thoughts are too fast, too soon. His heart is beating an imprint against his ribcage and under the skin of his wrist, pounding away at him as if trying to climb right out of his flesh.

His eyes fall to his bowl of soup, where he'd been sliding letters to the side to spell words. He looks at the letters already there (C S T I L), and he remembers. He remembers the reason there even was alphabet soup in the fridge: Cas had gotten sick and hadn't liked his tomato soup, and Dean, wanting to offer Castiel the full of experience of being pampered and looked after while ill had made him a different batch, this time with alphabet pasta, and they'd sat in bed together cursing the vowels for being the most elusive letters of the broth as they spelled dirty words at each other.

He remembers after, setting their bowls aside and pressing his hand to Castiel's forehead, how his eyes had fluttered shut and he'd leaned into the contact, how his lashes had shadowed over his cheekbones. Somehow he had thought of Cas with snowflakes in his eyelashes, and then wished ardently, a poignant want startling by its strength, that he could be one of them.

He remembers the day he'd seen Castiel on the edge of town, dirty and grimy and injured and red-eyed, remembers that he'd felt such a burst that he'd yelled his name and had run across the street to grab him and pull him into his arms. Hadn't given a single fuck that a car had swerved around him and honked, or that they were clutching each other in public, the crowd of pedestrians parting around them like the red sea.

He remembers purgatory. Searching for him through trees and cliffs, through vampire and werewolf accounts, remembers Castiel had stayed away from him to protect him.

Dean remembers everything Castiel has ever done for him. Wonders how much else there is that he has no idea about.

(They were a force, when together. Dean and Castiel, and yet there was so much he didn't know, had never bothered to simply  _ask_.)

He blinks hard a few times, wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, stands. Things can change, from here on out. Does he want them to? Is he ready for them to?

Is _Cas_  ready for them to? 

Dean thinks he would need months, maybe years, to settle into humanity properly, to become his own person, to grow into being Castiel, rather than Castiel, angel of the Lord. The last thing Dean wants to do is skew Castiel's perception, influence him, trap him into something he might not want. It's too much, too soon.

Even if they've been tip toeing around this for years.

He puts the soup away. He dies the dishes. He starts breakfast.

He greets Sam and Kevin good morning and hands them their plates.

When Castiel walks in, Dean shoves a cup of coffee into his hand.

They share a glance, and that's it. Castiel takes a seat, Dean takes a plate of his own, and breakfast is as it always is between the four of them: comfortable, lazily chatty, familial.

Dean hears the three words with every glance Castiel throws his way. They echo in his ears, against his skill, under his ribs.

He doesn't really know what to do, so he does nothing.


	2. doesn't that make us the perfect pair?

Nothing changes. It's awkward at first, until Dean realises it's because he's  _making_  it awkward. As soon as he stops, things are as they always were. Although Dean has a harder time under Castiel's gaze now, and maybe ducks his eyes away faster than he usually would. It feels heavy, it's weighted now that he knows they mean something, all those lingering looks.

Even when left to each other, Dean doesn't bring it up. Not at first. It takes a few days; they're sitting outside near the Impala, knees almost touching and basking in the amber light of sunset. They're quiet, and Dean turns his tongue in his mouth 7 times and then tries to compose words in something more symphonic than the chaos he's feeling.

He fails.  
 

"When you, uh," he starts, before having to clear his throat and look away, squinting against what's left of the sun on the horizon.

  
"When I said I loved you?"  
  
"Yeah, that. Did you mean...?"  
  
Castiel looks at him expectantly, but Dean can't bring himself to say the words. It sounds so stupid, and he wonders if maybe he didn't dream that, after all, if maybe that wasn't his mind's fucked up way to tell him to pay more attention to Cas. It seemed more likely than Cas truly, really --  
  
"I am in love with you, yes. That's what I meant," Castiel says, and okay, fuck. Dean's first question is  _why?_ , closely followed by  _how?_  and ending with  _since when?_  
  
He's not sure he wants to know. He's terrified. His hands are moist and gross.  
  
"It's not that simple," he says automatically, but Castiel looks at him dead serious.

"Yes, it is," he says, and it's so  _sure._ Dean struggles to find something to say, anything, his mouth open stupidly as he blanks. What can he even say to that? Thanks? I appreciate it?

He probably should say something about how  _he_  feels, but the truth is he has no fucking clue, and hasn't even begun to disentangle the thread linking them together. It's all knotted in some parts and worn thin in others, and he remembers anger and hurt and betrayal but also laughter and warmth and relief, and where do you even start being in love with your best friend?

"You don't have to say anything, Dean," Cas supplies, and Dean closes his mouth and glances at him before quickly looking away. He feels ashamed, to not know, to not understand how this is possible. He feels ashamed that he has no idea how to respond, because even back with Cassie, and Lisa, it was a strange sort of love that he gave and felt for them. 

Love was never given to him with such intensity. It was never handed to him for free on a silver platter as nothing but a  _gift_. Lisa took him in and loved him as much as she could muster, but he was absent and empty at best, and in no way had he been worthy of her generosity.

It was mind boggling that anyone would ever love him as much as Castiel did. He knows he does, in his own way, because when he makes a joke and Kevin groans and Sam rolls his eyes Cas is ducking his head and smiling, and he shoots glances at Dean like he thinks he's the cutest thing.

When he looks a Cas again, he's looking right at him with so much fondness it hurts. It's like he's  _melting_ , and Cas smiles so soft and secret that Dean smiles back.

"I'm sorry if this troubles you," Cas whispers, and Dean feels a pang because no, it's not like that, it doesn't bother him, he jus wishes he could figure himself out, wishes things were different, that Cas had chosen this, that the possibility of Cas finding his grace and leaving wasn't hanging over them both. Or the possibility that, now that he was free, Cas would build a home elsewhere. With someone else, more deserving, more loving,  _more_  than Dean.

"It doesn't," Dean says, and then grins. He kind of wants to put his arm around Castiel but feels like that might send the wrong message, and he doesn't want to jerk him around like this. He doesn't want to be the one to break Castiel's human heart for the first time.

If he hasn't already. Fuck.

"I mean, it's fine," he continues, rubbing at his arm just to have something to do with his idle hands that isn't  _touch Cas_. 

"Dean," Cas says, and Dean feels something thick rise at the back of his throat. He's not sure if it's bile, tears, or a scream. He doesn't want to find out, keeps his mouth closed, looks stubbornly away.

"Dean," Cas says again, and Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and then turns to look at him. He's hurting, hurting for Cas and himself and how confusing it must be for him, how strange it must be to suddenly find yourself feeling love for another. When he himself, human for 30 something years now, can barely make heads or tails of it.

Dean's a fucking mess. There's someone better out there to teach him this stuff.

Cas is still looking at him all fond and stuff like he doesn't even care that Dean hasn't said  _I love you_ back, like it actually is fine, like he just loves him so much he feels blessed just being around him, and maybe that's true, but for some reason Dean is the one getting emotional, all choked up, eyes burning, and he scoffs and does his self-deprecating grin thing.

"Love hurts, right?" He says, and Cas doesn't even falter.

"I'm not in pain," he says simply, almost surprised. The dam breaks and Dean allows himself to feel relief. Tries not to burst into tears because this is so weird and strange and why is it hurting him, then? 

"I'm not in pain, Dean," Cas repeats, and ugh, why are they sitting so close, Dean can see how blue his eyes are and how honest and genuine he's being, and he doesn't even understand. He's never loved and not  _hurt_  for it. It always hurts.

"Love doesn't have to hurt," Cas breathes, and Dean swallows hard, bites down the bile-tears-scream. He wants to yell, shout,  _how the fuck would you know?! How can you say that when you've been human for barely a year?!_

_How can you be better at this than I've ever been? How do you love so much without letting it destroy you?_

_How?_

He doesn't say anything. He closes his eyes. Lets out a rough exhale. Doesn't wake up from this, which means it's actually happening, which means he's not dreaming and Cas, ex-angel of the lord,  _is in love with him_.

"I can't," he says, and his voice breaks, and for a second his face does too, like he's about to start bawling, so he puts his elbows on his knees and drops his face into his hands and just  _breathes_  and  _deep breaths Winchester, c'mon, just breathe_.

He can't. He's been making excuses, thinking Cas was too newly human, but maybe Dean's been avoiding it, maybe he's been avoiding to think about what it means to do all he's done for Cas, to do all Cas has done for him.

It's too fucking much. It takes his stupid breath away.

"I'm sorry," he hears Cas say, and he just crosses his arms and buries his face into the crook of his elbow like a sulking kid. He's breathing. Or trying to. 

"I hope one day you see in yourself what I see in you. That's all I really wish for. There is so much worthy of love in you, Dean," Cas says, and there's a light tremble to his voice that breaks Dean a little more. "But no matter what, I am your friend, your family. Okay?"

Cas used to be part of the stars that are starting to wake and twinkle above them, and Dean has never belonged, never been that bright and worthy, and no, this isn't okay. 

He doesn't deserve it.

"Fuck," he croaks, because Cas has done it, he's fucking crying, snivelling into his sleeve, his shoulders racked with sobs as he curls into himself and his chest feels punched through, carved out, and it's like Cas is holding his still beating heart into his hands and seeing all of it's flaws, it's cracks and holes and the places where it's been taped back together. 

He's never felt more naked in his life.

He takes a deep breath and finally, after dragging his hands over his face one last time, looks to Castiel.

"You're an idiot," he says, voice thick, and he sniffs and he's sure he's all runny and gross and red faced but this is Cas. This is Cas, who loves him completely, and has he ever, in his life, been this close to anyone? Outside of Sam?

He doesn't think so.

"I know," Cas smiles, one of the nice soft closed-lips ones that reach his eyes. "Now, I believe Sam rented the latest season of Parks and Recreation for us earlier today, and it's waiting for us," he says, like they didn't just have the kind of conversation that people take days to recover from.

"Oh, yeah," Dean says, dumbly, rubbing at his face again, sniffing a last time. "Yeah, let's go do that," he says, clearing his throat. "Sounds good to me."

"Okay," Cas says, and as he gets up and walks back to the door, Dean watches him. He watches him in his cargo pants and his favorite hoodie, watches as he turns to raise his eyebrows at Dean (a silent  _are you coming or not?_ ), and thinks:

_I need to do this right._

He doesn't linger on that, instead hurries to his feet and catches up with Cas, and all through the night he doesn't think about this because there's no rush. 

Cas is family, and Cas loves him more fiercely than Dean has ever loved himself. Once he learns to do the latter, Dean thinks he might be able to start figuring that tangled thread out just fine.


	3. and you are back for even more of exactly the same

Dean realises, after watching Cas for a few weeks, that he's not sure he knows what being in love even  _is_. He's been in love, he thinks, but has he ever felt the real deal? Selfless and all-encompassing? Is there a right way to love? Does loving out of duty make it less important? 

Does any of that matter?

Whatever he has felt in the past, (for Sam, Bobby, his  _mother,_ his father), is strong, that much he knows. He would fight to the fucking death for these people, he would give his life. He already has, in some instances. It's complicated, though, and with it come so many other things. Dismay that he couldn't save her, or him. The impression that he had failed him to the very end, and how he hadn't told him what he meant to him enough. Sam is a special case, and nothing in his life will ever measure to what he feels for Sam. It's not all good, none of it is, all filled with memories and what feels like a Winchester curse or some shit.

But there's newer stuff, things for Charlie and Kevin, bursts of pride and joy and warmth. It's new and nice and cozy, but it's just as strong, and he would rip anyone who dared hurt either of them apart.

He watches Cas, who seems fulfilled and content and who is rapidly getting used to this human thing. He is at ease with most things, even if he trips and drops things and will sometimes glare at his own hands. Sometimes he forgets to eat, and when Dean sees him rub his stomach he asks him if he's eaten yet and watches Castiel's face fill with relief as he understands why his body was protesting.

Cas seems happy with love. It doesn't scare him. It makes him grow.

Dean barely knows how to live it without letting it destroy him. Love heeds pain. That's all he knows. Opening yourself up to it means you end up on the fucking floor picking up the pieces.

He feels more than under qualified for to talk about this, considering his track record. He doesn't think he's ever outright told anyone he loves them. Not with words.

He tests the words out, once. Stands in front of the sink in the bathroom and looks himself right in the eyes. He gets as far as the  _l_  from  _love_  before scoffing and stomping away. He tries again three hours later, his hands grasping the sink tightly as he leans over to bring his face closer to the mirror.

He gets as far as  _I love_. That's easy enough. He loves his car, after all. He loves television and beer and making food for people he cares about. Loving people, loving  _himself_  is a whole other matter. The last living person he'd spoken the three words to had burned up on the ceiling of his brother's nursery. That kinda shit gives you some issues.

He feels so stupid for doing this in the first place, unsure why, and is even more irritated that he can't do it, so he spends the rest of the night in front of the tv with a beer in his hand. Cas asks if he can join him, takes place next to him, and swipes Dean's beer from his hand to finish it for him.

They watch in silence together until Dean gets up and goes to bed.

"Goodnight," Cas says.

"Night, Cas," Dean says, and if his hand brushes along the back of the couch and his fingers briefly touch Castiel's shoulder, neither of them react to it.

 

* * *

 

It had been difficult. Nothing Castiel had experienced had been as bewildering as waking up fallen and alone, stumbling out of the forest. He had almost gotten hit by a car and dived out of the way only to experience his first injury: the palm of his hand had scraped painfully against gravel and  _hurt_. Pain had never been like this before, and although he had felt echoes and shadows of his vessel's physical state, this hit him in a different way. The sting of it pulsed under his skin all the way to his elbow.

Then, there had been Hael. She had been so willing to help, so charming, and then she had struck him in the back of the head. He had woken up with a pounding headache, nauseous, rocked by the movement of a van. She had told him she was an angel, and that they were going to make him pay for this, and he'd felt the blood in his veins freeze.

He sat there and took her words and drank from them and found something to live for. 

The car crashed. He doesn't remember exactly what happened, only that he thought he saw something in the rearview mirror and had grabbed it, and Hael had crashed the car. She had been the most injured, and he'd found her in pieces in the grass, painstakingly raising herself as she healed to hiss more hatred at him.

She tried to kill him. He got to her first.

 

* * *

 

Dean wakes up feeling hungover, even though he only had half a beer the night before. Maybe it's how fucking badly he slept, tossing and turning, getting even less than the usual 4 hours (that had been stretching to 6, lately, he had to admit). His arms kept reaching for someone that wasn't there, and amongst the images flashing behind his closed eyelids were Cassie and her pretty lips, Lisa and her bright smile, Sam and his everything, his mother and the flash of her blond hair the last of his actual memory of her, the smell of leather from his father's jacket in his nose, the shape of the back of Ben's neck as he'd rested a proud hand there, and Cas in his arms in purgatory, the scruff of his cheek against his ear.

He stays in bed for a long time before finally getting up. At least he has his trusty robe (dead man or not), fluffy as ever, warm and thick and perfect, basically.

"Morning," Sam greets him as he steps into the kitchen. "How'd'you sleep?" 

He's sweaty and gross, having just returned from his jog. Dean wonders if Cas is already showering or is taking the longer route. They'd both tried to get him to join them but running was not his thing; running was what he did when he had a life to save or his own ass to cover. It wasn't something he particularly enjoyed.

"Terribly," he huffs, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Strong, like Cas likes it.

"Memory foam not doing it for you?" Sam grins, slathering enough butter on a slice of toast it's like he's making a fucking butter sandwich. Dean scowls at it. Sam ignores him.

"Yeah, not last night apparently," he says with his lips hovering at the rim of his cup. He closes his eyes as he lets the warmth seep against his face and then feels the blissful taste of caffeine on his tongue and down his throat. Ugh. He has a new found appreciation for coffee since Cas spent two hours telling him the history of it as he ground his own beans and made his own blend and prepared it to perfection and then made him drink a cup with him.

"You know what you should do?" Sam claps him on the shoulder, and Dean whispers  _sweatiest hands on earth_  and steps away. Sam only grins wider. "You should try jogging with us again," he says, and Dean doesn't even glance at him as he ungracefully exists the kitchen and retreats to his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

 

He stole someone's clothes out of a laundromat. There was some forgotten change there, and with it he bought himself his first meal: a chocolate bar. It was the most exquisite thing he had ever eaten. He was so hungry, but he only ate half, and saved the rest for the next time hunger would make him feel light headed and dizzy.

All this time he wished love was a beacon he could simply follow home. He looked at a map in the first gas station he'd found, and seen the miles separating them from him. 

He walked in the opposite direction.

 

 

* * *

 

Dean can't stop looking at Cas when no one's looking. He's learning every inch of him with his eyes, without even touching him, learning his little quirks and habits, the new ones, the ones that make him that much more human. Sometimes he wants to burst with it. When Castiel wakes up in the morning bleary eyed and glowering to anyone who dares speak to him until he's had coffee, for example.

Mostly, he looks at Cas to try and figure it out. How can he, this being so above and beyond what Dean could ever dream to be, be in love with him? What has he done, what has he said, to lead them to this?

He thinks loving him must be some kind of self-punishment. Sure, he's a hunter and he's kind good at it, badass even, but that doesn't make heads or tails of it. He's not much, outside of that, barely only starting to figure out he likes this; having a home base, long showers, making complex dinners, going to buy tomatoes and having to pick from 30 different kinds. 

Dean looks at Cas and tries to understand and can't. He tries to ask himself how he feels, but then his thoughts fly in all sorts of directions and that tells him he can't, not yet, he's not ready, and he would fuck this up. He's been thinking about Cas more, lately, and when his eyes fall on his hands or arms it's not  _always_  to note how human he is now.

Sometimes it's something else. Something more.

But that can't be  _it._ This is Cas, and if he's going into this he will give it  _everything_  he has, he isn't going to half ass it, and he's not going to grab Cas' hand and kiss his fingertips because he's feeling the urge to. That wouldn't be fair to Cas, first off, not when he himself is so unsure of what he feels. And, secondly, he is going to do this right. Meaning he's gonna make sure of what he feels to begin with. Then, if it's not a flat out no, he will make sure it's right.

He doesn't want to love Cas for the wrong reasons. He doesn't want this to end like every other time he's felt something for someone. He doesn't want to rip himself open only to have someone pour acid into the cavity of his chest. He doesn't want to drag someone down with what he feels, like he has before.

That's probably stupid.

He doesn't really care anymore, because he cares about Cas and he wants to give him an answer, and it's either a very sure  _yes_  or a very, very sorry  _no_.

 

* * *

 

He walked until he was so tired he simply lied down somewhere relatively out of sight. In an alley, behind a garbage bin, under benches and park structures. He stumbled on a whole camp once when he fell off the ramp of a bridge and discovered a group of others like him, homeless and aimless.

One man was very fond of bees, too, and they discussed those for a while. Eventually his train of thought became too hard to follow, he was talking to people who weren't there, and Cas sat next to someone else. A woman read his palms, and said he was good and kind and that he was looking for something.

"Then again, aren't we all?" She'd said, smiling at him, and Castiel wondered how people with such kindness could end up here. 

Castiel stayed there a while. A man came once, and he had nice eyes in a sun worn face, green ones that would stare right into yours. He stumbled on the camp with a half empty wine bottle and pissed on someone's tent, though, so he wasn't very much like the man his eyes reminded Castiel of.

"Do you know what love is?" He slurred drunkenly at Cas, who didn't say anything. "It's bullshit, that's what it is. Anyone who believes in that crap is a fucking moron," the man said, and something in Castiel's heart seized and he tore his gaze away from the green eyes _._

"I don't believe that," he had muttered, and the man had laughed, a wheezy thick thing that made Castiel shudder.

"Then you're a fool. People just use each other to feel somethin' 'cause no one wants to die alone," the man had said before bringing his bottle back to his lips. He didn't say another word, and eventually Castiel had stood and walked away.

He walked in the other direction this time.

Towards them.

 

* * *

 

It's been a month, and Dean still can't fucking figure himself out. He spends more time moping about this than actually figuring it out. The only reprieve he gets is the occasional lead that takes them away for a few days, during which he can drive, drive, drive, and and wheedle info out of helpful fallen angels about the Knights of Hell.

When he's on the job he can put all this stuff aside and do just that: his job, as well as he can, which is damn well.

Cas doesn't even look at him like he expects anything. Cas doesn't even do small things that could (and would) guilt him into saying anything in return. Absolutely nothing has changed in Castiel's behavior, and one night he gathers up enough courage to broach the subject again.

"How long?" 

"I think since the start," is the immediate answer. Fucker doesn't even need to think about it before saying something that makes Dean's heart stop. 

He doesn't even know when that fucking is, to Cas.

"Which is?" He asks, and he's glad Kevin went to bed an hour ago and Sam is deep in the library, skyping with Charlie and sharing info.

"When I held your soul in Hell," Cas says, and he looks at Dean like he is still that soul, like maybe he can still see it. Dean doesn't know what to say. Again. This is like the fourth time? He lost count, whatever, the dude's got some skills because he keeps knocking Dean on his ass.

"Oh," he manages to breathe out, and then he falls silent.

The conversation ends there, a comfortable quiet lapsing between them as they sit at the kitchen table over tea. It's silent, maybe, but Dean's mind is far from that as he thinks back to that, all those years ago, to being raised by something he couldn't identify and wanted to take down as soon as possible. He thinks of all the shit that happened since, and all the stuff between them, and the things they've said to each other, the things they  _did_  for and because and to each other.

He reels. He stands, goes to the bathroom, and splashes cold water on his face.

He feels like throwing up, but his reflection in the mirror stops him.

The letter  _l_  chokes him at the back of his throat.


	4. so cut out all the good stuff

Dean isn't sure how he ends up wrestling on the couch with Cas. Maybe it's the beers neither of them had paced themselves with. Maybe they should have stopped drinking them, but they'd kept going, late into the night, until lame pseudo-porn was on the channel they'd been watching and they'd been forced to change after Cas had nearly drown in a sip of his beer laughing.

Cas laughing is one of his favorite things, his alcohol addled mind provides for him. He tries stealing Castiel's beer after finishing his last one, and the bottle ends up on the floor. The next thing he knows, they're wrestling, fighting each other with knees and elbows and feet and hands, but both breathless with laughter.

So maybe he does know how he ended up wrestling Cas, and maybe he doesn't care that he should probably be careful. Their faces are close, really close, and one particular strong hold of Castiel's smooshes Dean's face against his shoulder.

"Hrnggmrr!" He says, and Cas says  _what?_  and squeezes him in a headlock even more tightly. Dean's slapping a hand at whatever part of Cas he can reach (in this instance, his ribs), and Cas finally loosens his hold enough for Dean to gasp air into his lungs.

"Dude if you're trying to attempt murder there are easier ways," he wheezes, and Cas lets out a huff of air that's definitely amused, and Dean grins up at him.

They're kind of lying on each other, and Dean feels like a teenager, too warmed by the contact of their bodies pressed together to sit up and move away. It's  _nice_ , and he can't figure out if it's nice because it's Cas, or because he's missed this, always wants this; physical proximity, affection, touches. To feel a person alive under his hands and his body.

"I know," Cas says, and Dean's head is resting on his shoulder and he can hear his heart beat. It's loud and human and sounds solid and he would rather his stops before Castiel's ever does.

That's probably something he should think about. There are few people he'd give his life for, outside of Sam, but Castiel is definitely one of them, and now he's thinking about Cas being  _gone_ , and he's not grinning anymore. It's happened before and he remembers that he wasn't okay, not really, that he ached in ways he'd never felt before, but now Cas is  _human_ , and that's different, somehow.

He's never talked to Cas about his humanity. They've been tiptoeing around it, but they never talked about what it's like for Cas to now be  _mortal_ , to have a life span, to now have to be careful when he carries his hamper of dirty laundry down the stairs so he doesn't trip and break his neck. 

"Hey, Cas?" He asks softly, and Cas' hand is on his back, and he hadn't noticed before but now it's all he can think about. Cas hums, and Dean purses his lips before speaking. "Are you freaked out about the whole...being mortal thing?"

Castiel is silent, the only sound his soft breathing, which tickles near Dean's ear. He doesn't move, though, and just waits, his hand coming to rest on Castiel's chest.

"Not really," he says finally. "I like the idea that this time I might get to choose how I go. Dying in consequences to choices I've made is...it's nice, that it's even a possibility."

Dean hadn't considered that, and he thinks it's nice to be able to see it like that. He can't, not when he's lost so much already, not when he has played a hand in the death of many, Castiel included.

"You're taking it well," he huffs, and Cas' thumb is definitely rubbing soothing circles into his back.

"It hasn't been easy, Dean," he says, and Dean knows, fuck, he can't even imagine, and he wants to ask Cas what he was up to all those months he spent out there on his own, but it's not his place. Cas will tell him when -- and if ever -- he's ready. He's glad that Cas came here, he really is, but his history and his long absence makes Dean fear that one day he'll wake up and just not want to be here anymore. Get up and leave, like he has many times before, and it's selfish as fuck but he doesn't  _want_  Castiel to leave.

Dean never wants him to, but it's so much easier to let him go and to hurt than to say things like  _I want_  and  _please stay_. Alcohol fuels him, takes from him the ability to filter what he thinks and says. When he opens his mouth he is bitter, angry. _  
_

"I hate it. I hate the thought of you being gone and I'm a selfish piece of shit," Dean says, and he disentangles himself from Cas to stand. He stumbles a few steps away from the couch, realizing how drunk he is and cursing under his breath. He doesn't want to look at Castiel, doesn't want to see him blinking at him from the couch, doesn't want to read his expression.

Dean is a fucking dick, selfish and childish and petty and he deserves any anger Castiel throws his way.

"You drank too much," is all Castiel says, and his voice is so soft that it pisses Dean off, because how can he be so nice, how can he just  _take this_? No one should have to put up with him like Castiel has, and knowing the guy's actually in love with him is fucking insane but only making matters worse, really. Dean is treating him like he means the world even though he's not ready to say so, can barely think so without feeling his stomach twist unpleasantly, and he can't give Cas a definite answer, can't even give his best friend that.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Castiel is gently guiding him toward the hallway.

"M'fine," Dean mutters, but Cas doesn't let go, steadies him when he stumbles. 

"I'd carry you, but I think that would piss you off," he says, and fuck, Dean feels his breath on his neck and he shouldn't be noticing that. Or he could, if he was ready to face what it meant that it makes him shiver.

"Don't forget you probably can't lift me anymore," Dean says as payback because how dare you make him shiver, Cas. 

Dean should have predicted that was exactly what he needed to say for Castiel to prove otherwise, but he's still taken by surprise when after a bewildering few seconds he finds himself in Castiel's arms, bridal style, his own arms around Castiel's neck.

"Fuck, you're strong," he says, awed, and he's blinking at Cas who's just smirking at him.

"I know."

"You're not nearly as drunk as I am."

"I know," Castiel says again, and when they get to Dean's bed he just drops him on there and Dean bounces and laughs at the way his mattress immediately shapes itself to him. His head is spinning a little and his stomach churns but whatever, Cas is here.

"I'm glad you're here," he says, grabbing his pillow to hold it against his chest. He kind of wants to invite Cas to come and be his living, breathing blanket, but thinks better of it. "Sorry I'm a dick, Cas. Kinda wish you'd fallen for someone better," he mumbles, finding his eyelids heavier by the second. "I know I don't have a right to ask you anything but man, if you stayed I think I'd -- "

"It's okay, Dean," Castiel interrupts, and Dean has to admit that kinda stings. He might be drunk but he means this, and it's important, and he doesn't think he can say it all again in the morning.

"No, dude, listen -- "

"You need to sleep, Dean. We'll talk about this some other time," Castiel says, and Dean can't see his face in focus enough to know what to make of his expression. Castiel is tugging his sheets out, pulling them over him, and he lets him manhandle him under them.

"Okay," he says finally, defeated, and Cas leans over to take the pillow from Dean's hands and carefully slide it under his head. 

"Good," Cas breathes, face close as he fluffs the pillow up a little, and Dean can't stop looking at his lips.

"Cas?" He says, and Cas tilts his head but doesn't move away, and okay this is cheesy but his eyes really are fucking blue, like what the fuck, dude? 

Then he does the last thing he should do.

Dean closes the space between them and kisses him.


	5. and vital parts fall from his system

They don't talk about the kiss.

The following days are dedicated to a case. A fallen angel is terrorizing a small town 8 hours down the road, so they get ready. Dean is glad for it, because as much as he loves the showers and his memory foam and his record collection, being idle too long drives him a little crazy.

They're in the kitchen early in the morning, drinking coffee before heading out (Sam eating some of his gross oatmeal stuff), and Dean is actually kind of looking forward to this. The three of them haven't worked together in what feels like ages, and it always works well.

"Hey, maybe you can even ride shotgun while Sam naps in the backseat," Dean says, clapping Castiel's shoulder. He grins, and Cas gives him a brief smile in return, but it doesn't last. 

"I would prefer to stay," Castiel says, which stops Dean short. He hadn't considered that, somehow, but now that Cas looks at him like he's sorry, he kind of gets it. The angels are after him, after all, and it's not because he's managed to evade them so far that he likes going head on with what were once his brothers and sisters.

He doesn't think that's it, though. He wishes he knew what was going on in Castiel's head, how he feels about not only his fall but what happened to the other angels, what his intentions are. Dean realises he doesn't even know if Cas' grace was destroyed or just taken from him.

He wishes he'd asked before now.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Sam says when Dean takes too long to respond. "No worries, Cas."

"Yeah, okay," Dean throws in finally, shrugging his bag up on his shoulder. "Mind the fort, alright? We'll give you a call once we're on our way back," he says, but he feels fucking weird.

He kind of hesitates at the door. He can hear Cas in the kitchen, probably starting up breakfast, and is torn between going back there to ask him if he wants to talk, or just leaving him be. 

"Dude," Sam says, rolling his eyes at him. "He'll be fine. Let's go," he motions to the door, but Dean stays where he is, and clenches his jaw. Yeah, Cas is safe here, that's for sure (safer than out on a case with them), but that's not what's bugging him. Cas might be  _physically safe_ , but how is he, otherwise? Dean isn't sure he wants him moping around and beating himself up in the bunker by himself.

Well, there's Kevin, but Kevin is still kind of pissed at all of them for ruining his life most days.

"I don't know, Sammy."

"Dean, come on," he says, and a warm hand falls on his shoulder and squeezes. "Cas can make his own decisions. If he wants to stay, then he should stay. He can handle this. He made it out there on his own for months, remember?"

Yeah, Dean remembers. It makes him think selfish things he berates himself for, and he makes another note not to get drunk with Cas ever again, lest he drive his friend away with his stupid selfish desires and thoughts and fears. 

Maybe some space will be good. Dean doesn't want to think about the other night, about the drunken press of his lips to Castiel's. Every time his thoughts brush over the memory his stomach twists unpleasantly and he feels a little sick.

He nods, and Sam moves past him to head out toward the car.

Dean follows.

They don't talk about the kiss.

 

* * *

 

The hunt goes fairly well, and they manage to stop the upset angel from showcasing his powers in front of the population that was starting to believe they were collectively hallucinating.

It still takes them a little over a day, and they spend the night in a motel. Dean misses his bed. He also kind of misses watching television with Cas before going to bed.

But he doesn't have a right, so he sucks it up and tucks himself into the blankets and sleeps till morning.

 

* * *

 

They're about to head back, and Dean has been playing with his phone for 15 minutes. It's not that fucking hard, he's just calling to say  _hey, we're on our way back_ , but the truth is that being away from Castiel has only confused him further.

He dials the number and hits send before he changes his mind. He presses the phone against his ear and sits on the edge of the bed, listening to it ring.

Only once, because Castiel picks up immediately.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas. How're things back home?" 

"They're good. I have been teaching Kevin about the true origin and history of pizza," Castiel says, and Dean doesn't know if he's joking or not. "That's a joke, Dean," Cas says helpfully, and Dean grins and covers his face because this is stupid, he's already grinning like an idiot over the phone and it's barely been 30 seconds.

"Right," he says. "Well, we're done here, so we're gonna head back as soon as Sam comes back from checking us out."

"Alright. I look forward to welcoming you home," he says, like he's saying he needs a new pair of shoes, like it's the kind of thing you can just  _say_. Fuck, Cas is ridiculous, and he sounds so genuine and warm and it stops Dean's heart dead in his chest and he feels like choking.

"Y-Yeah," he stammers before clearing his throat and getting up to pace around the room. He can't sit still, and he runs a hand down his face, and his cheeks feel warm and ugh, fuck Cas, fuck this, he doesn't know what he really wants out of this but he kind of really wants him to be right here so he can grab his face and kiss him. "In a few hours, buddy," he chokes out, and then winces because  _buddy,_ really, they're kind of past that by now.

"I'll be here. I can make dinner," he says, and Dean leans an elbow on the dresser and takes a deep breath and then his elbow slips and he does that weird body jerk thing and that's the moment Sam chooses to walk back in.

He mouths  _Cas?_ and Dean nods, hoping Sam didn't see that.

"Dean?"

"Shit, sorry, Sam just came in," Dean says, and he's fucking sweating, that's how flustered he is. "We're gonna go, we'll see you in a few hours."

"See you soon, Dean," Cas says, and Dean's mouth opens to say something, closes, re-opens. He doesn't think he's allowed to say something like  _I miss you_ , and it's kind of too much anyways, too lame, so he settles for something else instead, pointedly turning his back to Sam.

"Yeah. S'not the same without you, Cas," he says, and there's a beat before Cas answers.

"I know. Next time."

"Yeah. Okay, um. I should go now."

"Yes."

"Uh. Bye."

"Goodbye, Dean," he says, and the little fucker sounds amused, and Dean hangs up and turns around and Sam is looking at him all weird and Dean just snaps  _What_  and grabs his bag to stuff it in the trunk of the car.

That was dumb. He's dumb. This entire thing is dumb and he just wants to go home -- where Cas is waiting and cooking them dinner, apparently -- and no, he can't think about this too much because he has to  _drive_.

Driving is like, super important.

 

* * *

 

"So, what's up with you and Cas?" Sam asks on the drive back. 

Dean's hands tighten on the steering wheel, and he shoots Sam a glower. He's not grinning his stupid  _I've got some dirt on you_  grin. He's frowning, looking  _concerned_ , and somehow that's worse.

"What are you talking about?" 

"I mean, when you called him earlier, that was kind of..."

"Kind of what, Sam?" Dean snaps, because okay let's be honest, he knows that was weird and awkward but he doesn't necessarily want to be talking about it. Or why.

"I don't know, Dean, it was just awkward. Did you guys fight? Are you still pissed he didn't want to come with us?"

"No, we're good," he says, tone sharp, in his usual  _this conversation is over_  tone.

"Okay. Good. That's good."

They fall silent for a few minutes, and just as Dean is reaching for the radio, Sam speaks up again.

"He told me how he feels about you, you know."

"Fuck," Dean hisses and his foot stutters on the accelerator as he feigns a coughing fit to cover up his reaction. It's useless against Sam but fuck he had not expected that.

"Uh. Sorry," Sam says, sheepish. "He's my friend too. He needed someone to talk to," Sam says, and he's defending Cas as if Dean would be angry, but who is he to get mad at someone for  _feeling_  something and wanting to share it?

He's not angry. Not at Castiel. Not at Sam.

At himself, mostly.

"Yeah. 'Course he is, 'course he does," Dean says, eyes focused on the road, unravelling under his eyes. He doesn't want to think about this. He doesn't want to know that Castiel talked to someone about, that Dean pushed him to.

"This is none of my business, but I just thought you'd like to know you don't have to hide that from me, if you don't want to," Sam says, and Dean thinks he doesn't deserve him, doesn't deserve a brother like that, after all the shit they've been through. Sam's done some crap, he's done some crap, and they're still holding each other up through whatever it is that's plaguing them at the time.

"Thanks, but I don't want to talk about it," Dean says, turning on the radio to cover up the beating of his heart in his ears.

"Dean," Sam says, but Dean ignores him, stares straight ahead, holds the steering wheel white-knuckled. 

They're 6 hours away, and those 6 hours are spent in silence.

 


	6. on his last leg

Dean can't fucking believe he's doing this. He feels like a boy sneaking on his father's computer to watch porn, tense as he opens up the browser and throws glances over his shoulder. As far as he knows Cas is reading, Kevin is sleeping, and Sam is in the kitchen. He has a few minutes.

He takes a deep breath, stares at the search engine box, and types:  _how to tell when you're in love with your best friend_. He presses enter without letting the breath out and jumps when he hears a sound from the kitchen. Dean minimizes the window, his heart suddenly hammering in his ears.

This is embarrassing and he's ashamed of himself, but it's a lesser evil than actually asking someone. Dean knows this shit, he does. He might be emotionally stunted but he's not  _stupid_ , and he can recognize emotions and feelings and thoughts, but he's looking for something. Answers, of the kind that will tell him he's wrong, that he can't possibly be, that they're  _not_. 

Once he's sure no one's coming, Dean clicks back to the results. His heart is beating so fucking fast and it doesn't even get that bad on hunts anymore.  

The first results is  _How to know you're falling in love with your best friend._

He clicks it. 

What he reads makes him cringe, mostly because it seems written by a 13 year old for 13 year olds. He goes back to the main results page to click the next link. He goes through the first page of links the search engine provides him, but none of them really apply to them. None of them tell him he's not in love with his best friend, because  _best friend_  is too little for what they are. There's no precedent for a relationship between a now fallen angel and a man, supposedly righteous, once, before. There's nothing about being raised from hell and rebuilt by graceful hands, there's nothing about years of push and pull, nothing about how Cas turned Dean's life upside down the moment he stepped into that barn.

If anything, the articles only intensify Dean's feelings of dread.

What he feels is much, much stronger than anything he reads. Butterflies? Fuck that, it's like he's got entire tornadoes churning in there when Cas looks at him a certain way. His mind reels as much as his stomach twists and turns. Wanting to be with them all the time? Sad and upset when you're apart? Yeah, okay, it's not like he feels ripped apart whenever Cas is gone and he doesn't know what happened to him or where he is or if he's even alive. It's not like Dean wishes Cas would stick around every time he  _is_  around.

Fuck. He is so, so fucked.

Dean clears the history, closes the browser, slams the laptop shut, and goes for a drive.

 

* * *

 

He drives past Lebanon, into fields, deserted road sides, until the light of the day turns crimson and golden and reflects off the paint of the Impala.

He thinks of love, and what it means, and if it's something he'll ever feel he deserves. Dean loves strongly, that's something he's started to acknowledge about himself lately, after Cassie and Lisa and Ben and Charlie and Bobby and Kevin and Sam, of course. Love takes all sorts of shapes and sizes, but when he feels it, it's for good. He's never thought of that kind of love being offered, given to him. It never occurred to him that it was  _possible_ , because he doesn't think he deserves it.

Deep in the recesses of his pocket, his phone rings. He lets it go to voice mail. Dean feels the vibrations of text messages in succession, but doesn't look. Light is seeping away from the sky as the sun sets, and the rumble of the car, the feel of her vibrating under his hands, is soothing.

The phone rings again, it's tone piercing and violating and he wants to be  _alone_ , dammit.

With a rough turn of the steering wheel, he brings the car to side of the road and stops her. He cringes a little for manhandling her like this but he's kind of pissed because he might be — 

The display of his phone tells him Charlie is calling. She prefers to text, usually, so he picks up immediately, concerned that something might be wrong.

"Charlie? You okay?" 

"Hi Dean!" She says, cheerful, and the worry eases out of Dean in an exhale. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just…you know. Checking up on my buddy!"

"Sam told you to call, didn't he," Dean says as he rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes. Of course he would. Apparently he can't just go for a drive without it being a huge fucking deal.

"Actually, no. It wasn't Sam," she says, and Dean frowns, watches a car in the rearview mirror come closer and then drives by, unaware that inside the parked Impala sits Dean Winchester, having a crisis over potentially being in love with his best friend. "Anyways, that doesn't matter," Charlie fills in before Dean can ask. "I have a box set here waiting for you. It's calling your name like the One Ring calls for its master," she says, and okay, Dean smiles a little, because he knows what Charlie is doing and she knows how bad he is about talking about the stuff that actually matters.

"Charlie," he starts, and what is he even supposed to say? I'm too upset about how I feel, how I've felt for so long? I'm bad for him, there's no way this will end well, I'll drag him down with me? He hasn't told Charlie any of this, but Dean has an inkling she knows something's up, and has been letting them do their thing on their own. For that he's thankful, at least.

"Come on. Come over, we'll talk, or not talk or whatever and watch something instead. I'll make popcorn and I have beer," she says, and Dean sniffs and clears his throat and says okay.

Dean starts to feel better halfway to her place.


	7. holding me up

In the end, Charlie doesn't ask questions, so Dean doesn't bring anything up. How do you tell one of your best friends you might be in love with your other best friend? How do people this shit?

Instead, their evening is spent marathoning shows and joking around, drinking beer. At one point she switches them to a new show ( _New Girl_ , or something), and Dean watches even though he doesn't really get it. She said he'd like it, if he likes the parks show, but it's nothing like that. He gets  _Parks_ , he gets the characters' motivations. Duty, having a job to do, a role to fulfill, people to help, things to improve, and wanting to do it well. The characters in new girl are aimless, though, floating around and living life in a way Dean has never allowed himself, has never experienced.

Still, there comes a point where two of the characters kiss for the first time, and he feels his skin prickle and his hands start to get moist, because fuck for a second he thought of grabbing Cas and kissing him just like that and his heart practically gave out.

Even though he gets visibly uncomfortable and asks to watch something else, Charlie doesn't offer Dean more drinks, even though he saw the fridge was full of beer.

He's thankful, really, to consider her a friend. She's a great one.

Dean makes sure to tell her that, as he pulls her in for a hug before heading back to the bunker. She wraps her arms around him and he kisses the top of her head (he always does now).

"Call me when you need a break, dude," she says, and he says okay, and then they smile and then he's off: back to the impala, back to Cas being in love with him, back to feeling inadequate and insufficient and not  _worthy_  or  _deserving_. He gets in the driver's seat, sits there in silence for a moment, gathering the courage to drive home.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he fumbles for it, frowning. It's a text from Charlie, and his heart falters briefly as he reads:

_you'll figure it out. you're dean winchester!!! you're a hero too :)_

And fuck if his eyes burn on the drive back, nobody has to know, okay?

 

* * *

 

When he gets home, Cas is in the library, reading. The main lights are off, and only the lamps are lighting the room. It's really fucking late, and Dean wonders if Cas stayed up for him, and this is what he means when he thinks he's fucked: Cas actually makes him feel like that's possible. Like maybe he actually did stay up waiting for Dean to come home safe.

It's a ridiculous thought to entertain, but there it is. That's how fucked he is.

"Good evening, Dean," Castiel says, looking up from his book.

"Uh, hey," Dean says, clearing his throat. "Sorry for. Leaving like that earlier."

It's not the best apology, but words were never his strong point, and this situation is all kinds of messed up and he has no idea how to go about it _._ Not this stuff. Give him ghouls and werewolves and wendigos, but not this. This he isn't prepared for.

 _"_ Do you want some tea?" Cas offers, and Dean doesn't know if he's hurt, angered, or relieved by the dismissal.

"Not really." Dean does wish he'd had more beer. Then maybe he wouldn't feel so weird for liking the way the light falls on Castiel's face, his profile outlined in golden hues.

"Well, I do," Castiel says as he stands. "Come with me?"

And Cas does that little head tilt of his and right, Dean is definitely fucked. He nods and follows Cas to the kitchen.

"Where's Sam?" He asks to Castiel's (strong, nice) back.

"In the gym," he says, and Dean opens his mouth to ask about Kevin when they step into the kitchen and find him there, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"Hey," Kevin greets them without much enthusiasm, and Cas pats his shoulder once. Follows a few seconds of awkward silence in which they all look at each other, and Kevin folds. "Uh. I'll be in the library," he says before fleeing the scene.

Dean feels a little bad, but he kind of  _wants_  to spend some alone time with Cas.

He thinks he needs to. Even if he's doing his best not to look at his lips, even if whenever their eyes meet he can't look away.

"Are you gonna make your tea or not?" Dean asks eyebrows raising, and Cas finally looks away to busy himself to it. Dean leans against the counter, pointedly  _not_  watching Castiel's hands and arms as he picks a tea and gets himself a cup.

They're silent as the water heats up, and although it's not awkward, it's tense, uncomfortable. It's heavy with everything Dean feels and can't say, doesn't want to say, is afraid to say. He feels like it's his fault, and he has to bite back another  _sorry_. It's like he's sorry for existing lately and he knows he needs to quit it.

They don't look at each other. Dean stares at his shoes.

"I think we should talk," Castiel says as his water starts to boil. 

"Yeah."

"Kevin's in the library."

"We could -- "

"My room," Castiel says, and oh man, Dean's stomach does a little flip at that, and what is he, 13? It's not like it's the first time he's going to hang out in someone's bedroom.

That's how Dean ends up sitting on the edge of Castiel's bed as the door closes him in. He's mapping out escape routes when Cas comes to sit next to him, his cup of tea in his hand.

He can't help but think about what's coming, about his inability to answer Castiel like he wants to. He's never been so worked up over wanting to kiss someone before, has never hesitated to wink and smile and pull in close and press his lips to another's.

This is usually  _easy_  and simple and good, but this is  _Cas_ and every time he remembers he feels panic creep up at the back of his throat, feels it clench and tighten until barely any air makes it through his lungs. He feels crippled, each of his heart beats stunted and broken.

Because he knows that there is no way, no fucking way, that he can give Cas what he needs, wants, and deserves. He's not that guy, and if he tries, all it'll do is show Cas just how easy it is for Dean to ruin everything he touches.

"I'm gonna fuck this up," Dean says, running a hand over his face. He closes his eyes, hears Castiel's cup being placed on the night table.

"What makes you say that?"

He can't see Cas, for which he's grateful. He doesn't want to see the concern etched in his features, or the pity, or that squint like Dean is a puzzle Cas can't figure out.

"What do you fucking think?" He says, more sharply than intended. When he glances at Castiel, though, he sees no hurt, and no pity, either. He's just watching, listening, expression open.

"I think you think you're going to fuck it up, as you so delicately put it," Cas says, and Dean shakes his head.

"I don't think, man. I know. Remember who you're talking to," he says, and Cas scratches his arm and Dean is transfixed by his fingers suddenly, and the marks on his skin his nails leave behind.

"Dean Winchester, yes. How many times have you saved the world, again?" Cas mocks, and Dean glowers at him.

"It's not the same thing. You know that."

"How many times have you thrown yourself into the fray without knowing what would happen, if it would even work, but thinking it was better than doing nothing?"

"Cas," Dean says, warning, looking away because Cas' gaze is a little too intense right now, and he doesn't  _shut up_.

"You have always tried everything, Dean, without knowing the outcome. The world is not at stake, here," Cas says, and when he reaches for Dean, Dean stands up, because he can't, he just  _can't_. "There's nothing to fear."

And that's the truth of it, isn't it? Dean is afraid, Dean is terrified, and throwing your life away to save the world means nothing when your own life means little. Cas' life means something, though. It means a fucking lot, and Castiel's heart means even more.

Breaking it would mean living in self loathing for the rest of his days. 

Castiel stands, too, comes close, and Dean stands still. 

"Think about now. Right now, what do you feel?" Cas asks, and Dean looks at him and Cas' eyes are wide and blue and he needs a shave and his hair is getting a little long, but fuck if he doesn't want to kiss him until they're both breathless.

Dean doesn't answer, but his eyes fall to Castiel's lips, and when they find his eyes again the air in the room shifts. Cas steps closer. They're almost touching, and Dean leans over, drawn, impossibly so, gravitating.

"Dean," Cas says, low, and something in Dean just breaks.

"I wanna kiss you so bad, Cas," his voice low and rough kind of like when he's about to cry, and Castiel's face is so close now he can feel him breathing.

"Then do it," Cas whispers.

Dean does. His lips meet Castiel's awkwardly at first, too hesitant, fumbling, and it's nothing like he wants it to be. He is already pulling away to say sorry, this is awful, I can't, but Castiel's hands come to rest on his cheeks and he kisses back, and then  _oh_ , everything falls into place.

He doesn't know how, but he ends up pressed against the wall, the hard lines of Castiel's body against his own. Cas parts his lips and fuck Dean gets a taste of him as his tongue brushes against his own and he lets out a sound that is definitely a whimper, a fucking  _whimper_ , and Cas' own moan is deeper, lower, almost a grunt.

Dean can already feel things definitely happening in his pants and all it took was the brush of Castiel's tongue. But it's  _human_ , and the kiss is moist and warm and tastes like camomile and Castiel's hands are hot on his face.

Dean's hands, so far completely useless, finally find purchase in Castiel's hoodie. The other goes for his hair, curling up in there tightly, and Dean fucking loses it, relaxes against the wall, tugs Cas up flush against him, and Dean wonders if it's some kind of record for a 40 something man to get a hard on by making out, because that's definitely Castiel's dick in his pocket, pressing against Dean's thigh.

Not that he's doing much better himself.

Cas is the one to break the kiss first, breathing hard as he does so. His thumb strokes at Dean's cheekbone and his eyes are so fond and his pupils dilated and its such a lovely combination that Dean has to swallow a lump from his throat.

"Dean," Castiel says, and Dean feels his breath on his lips and leans in to catch them again, because he can't get enough, because it feels like  _finally,_ because he can't believe how much he's into this. Cas, kissing Cas, touching him.

"Cas," he responds, and his hand loosens its grip on his hoodie to come and rest at Castiel's waist. He hooks two fingers under the hem of Cas' t-shirt, and feels the warmth of his skin at his fingertip. He watches as Castiel's eyes flutter to half-mast, and nothing's been hotter than this in his life: Cas, eyes closed, lips parted, hair messy by Dean's own doing.

Dean slips his hand up under Castiel's shirt, brushes his palm along Castiel's stomach, and already he finds himself wondering what it'll feel like under his lips and tongue. He can feel it move under his hand as Cas hitches a breath, and Dean's mouth finds the juncture of Castiel's neck and shoulder. He leaves a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses up Castiel's neck, and when his thumb brushes one of Castiel's nipples he's shoved roughly away from the wall.

"Bed," Cas growls, and Dean much obliges, backing up until he falls onto it. He watches as Cas gets rid of his hoodie, shrugs it off and dumps it unceremoniously on the floor. Then he's climbing over Dean, eyes locked, and Dean's trying to breathe like a normal person.

He can't, because Cas is looking at him like there is nothing else in the universe worthy of his attention.

Then Castiel settles against him, hips aligned, and shit he is so turned on, his pants are straining and when Cas bucks down against him he lets out a rough cry that would otherwise be embarrassing.

But when he can feel Cas' erection through his pants against his own, he can't be fucking bothered.

His hands grasp for Castiel's hips, and then they're kissing again, moving together, Cas down against him and Dean arching up into him and they find a pace quickly, one that works for both of them, and the kiss breaks so they can pant as their lips stay close enough to brush together.

"Dean, Dean -- " Cas is saying, over and over, like a plea, and Dean's heart is beating so fast and he can't breathe and if he says Cas' name his voice will crack, he knows it.

Fuck, he's already close, and he doesn't want to be, and Cas is pressing his face into his neck and grinding against him and it feels so good, warm and hot, but it would be so, so much better if they were naked.

"Cas," Dean says, and his hands slide to his back, to the dip of his spine, and that kind of gives him more leverage and the next time he bucks up against Cas it's rougher, needier. 

Castiel's hands are at his pants, working his belt. It's like he read his mind, and then the belt is being slipped from his jeans and oh fuck it's happening but he doesn't know yet, he still isn't sure, and Cas is opening his pants and shit. Fuck.

"Cas, wait, wait -- "

The hands at his fly stop immediately. Cas looks down at Dean, and Dean wants to hide and disappear and become one with the mattress, because he started this and now he can't finish it, he's taunting him, he's being so goddamn cruel to his best friend and he seriously can't expect Cas to stick around after all this.

It's better for it to end now than later, though.

"I don't want to do this if it's for the wrong reasons, I don't want to do that to you, I can't -- " He starts, but Cas brings a hand to his face again, frowns down at him.

"Dean. Dean, hey."

"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean breathes out, wretched and torn, and there is no one on this earth he dislikes more than himself at that moment.

"No,  _I'm_  sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," Cas says, his hand sliding down from Dean's cheek to rest at his neck. Yet again, Cas is being the good one, taking the blame, when really he did nothing wrong, and Dean is the giant dick.

"You didn't, I just, ugh. Fuck."

He can't even look at him. He wants to, and he wants him, but he doesn't want it if it means he'll wake up in the morning ashamed, if it means he'll wake up in the morning and feel differently, if it means things will change, if it means he might not feel this way in 3 years.

"Dean, listen. Look at me," Cas says, soft, and Dean does. It's hard and it makes a part of him shrivel up and die, but he does it. "Whatever  _I don't want to do this to you_  means, you need to forget it. I can make my own choices, and as I have hurt you in the past, you might hurt me again, but for that I will never love you less," he says, like it's fucking  _nothing_ , and Dean wants to throw up. He feels such a burst his chest feels too tight and his stomach revolts and for a second he thinks he actually will throw up.

"Don't be sorry for wanting or needing anything. I'm here, Dean. I've made my choice," he adds, and oh Dean's eyes are burning and his throat is too tight, and Cas smiles a little and Dean's heart breaks. "Now it's up to you to make or not to make one."

"Okay," Dean says, thickly, and his vision is a little blurry but he blinks a few times to clear it, and Cas is still there when it does. "Okay, Cas."

He doesn't think Cas' words will fully register for a few hours, but for now it'll do, and he's calm enough. Cas has so much faith in him, it's too much, but Cas is also giving him time, and the possibility not to make a decision at all.

Cas is too good for him.

"Alright," Cas says, softly, and he kisses Dean's cheek. "Do you want to stay here tonight?"

Dean isn't sure he has the strength to answer, so he wraps his arms around Cas and pulls him in. He buries his face into Cas' neck (it smells like soap, but not Dean's or Sam's, Cas' own), and lets him shift them around until they're under the covers, pressed close together.

"Cuddly," Cas huffs when he moves away to turn off the lamp and Dean grunts unhappily.

"Shut up," he says, reaching until his hand finds Cas' shirt and tugs. "Get back here."

It takes some shifting around for them to find a comfortable position, but once they do Dean is immediately soothed by Castiel's soft breathing, his warmth and his smell. Half asleep, his thoughts drift in and out, and he mumbles against Castiel's shoulder.

"Have you ever...you know."

"Had sex?"

"Yeah."

"Yes, but it didn't go very well."

"What happened?"

"I didn't last very long," Cas says, and Dean huffs, kind of amused, and he gets an elbow in the stomach for his trouble. They go quiet again, and right as Dean is about to fall asleep for good, consciousness edging away, he hears Cas say:

"I also said your name."

 


	8. you're not ill and i'm not dead

When Dean wakes up, the spot next to him on the bed is empty. He stretches but is far from pleased with the ache in his muscles. He wishes he'd woken up first, picturing himself just watching Castiel sleep for a moment, his eyes tracing the lines of Castiel's face, the shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks, the stubble on his face. Instead he gets cold wrinkled sheets, and okay, maybe before wanting things like that out of Cas, Dean should tell him it's okay, that he'd want that.

Getting out of bed is a chore, but Dean is hungry and wants coffee. He puts on sweatpants and makes a stop to the bathroom to take a piss and brush his teeth.

He can hear someone in the kitchen, and when he reaches it he stops dead in his tracks. Cas is wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and neither of them are particular or anything other than  _clothing_ , but seeing him stand there, turning on the stove and pouring oil into a pan, strikes something in Dean. Castiel's back is to him and he watches him in silence as he works, watches the way his arms move, his shoulders tense, his neck stretches when he reaches for the higher cupboards. Dean drinks it all up and feels the burning desire to go up to him, slide his hands around his waist and press himself against his back. He wants to bury his face into the crook of Castiel's neck and feel that stubble on his face. He wants to slide a hand up into Castiel's bed hair. Fuck. He wants it so bad it's almost a turn on to think about, which is weird. 

He doesn't do any of that. He stands and watches. Lets his eyes roam, wander, awe at the human way Castiel moves now. Cas almost drops the egg into the pan as he cracks it, shell and all, and Dean smiles and his heart swells and oh, oh he'd be more than okay watching this guy struggle with making breakfast for the rest of his life.

Yeah.

That's something, isn't it?

That means something, something big, something he expected he would have a self-revelation about in a moment of danger in the middle of a case, not on a sleepy morning after a failed attempt in the bedroom and cuddling through the night. Not after weeks of living with the weight of someone else's love, of not knowing how or if he was ready to return it.

It's a little anti-climatic, for him to come to realise that he would be okay with, even  _wants_  to see Castiel's face every morning for the rest of his life when the guy is making a mess trying to cook eggs.

"Cas," Dean says, and Cas jumps and turns to narrow his eyes at him.

"Don't sneak up on me," Castiel grumbles, and Dean can tell he hasn't had his coffee yet, so he heads to the coffee maker to get a batch started himself. It's kind of fucking adorable how grumpy he is before his coffee.

"Good morning," Dean says with a smile, and Cas turns away from him but not before Dean notices the echoing smile on his lips.

"Eggs?" Cas offers.

"Yes, please."

Cas holds out his hand, so Dean gets two more eggs from the fridge and hands them to him. For a while, they're silent as they move around each other in the kitchen; Dean to get a coffee filter and their cups, Cas for the salt and pepper for their eggs. It's like a dance, and it's so effortless and easy, and they're such shit at communicating the things that matter, what they feel, but fuck, are they ever good working  _together._ They're synched up, they know each other's reach and habits and quirks intimately, and it's terrifying how nice it feels to be this close to someone Dean has never felt responsible for.

They have something that's like a  _synergy,_ no matter how explosive it might get.

"Dean," Cas says finally as they sit down at the small kitchen table with their plates and coffee, across from each other.

"Yeah?"

Cas sips at his coffee, then looks down to grab his fork.

"I have done...horrible things," he says, before looking up. His eyes are a little wide, but his mouth is set. "Things I should never be forgiven for, and yet, you have."

Dean's fork is frozen halfway to his mouth, and he puts it down gently, trying to think of what to say, where to begin. Before he can, Cas continues.

"Sam has, as well, and even some of my fallen brothers and sisters. It is more than I deserve, but if I am given this, don't I deserve it? Do I need to atone for things others have moved on from? I've hurt people, I've hurt you," Cas says, and his hand falls on top of Dean's, squeezing. Dean can't look away from his eyes, but it pains him to do so, to see the weight of Castiel's actions be such a heavy load. He understands, because he carries a the burden of his actions on his shoulders, too. "I've hurt Sam more badly than I thought possible, and yet you still kissed me like the world was ending. Doesn't that say something?"

Dean doesn't know. He doesn't know how or why he forgave Cas, only that he can never be mad for long, only that as time goes he gets angry for other things: from what Cas did and said to what Cas didn't do or say. Besides, that's  _Cas_ , and he's been through so much shit, it's not comparable.

"It's not the same," he says, defeated, and Cas shakes his head.

"If you've forgiven me, what makes you think I wouldn't forgive you? I already do, for things past and future."

Dean doesn't really know what to say to that. There's much more than the things he's said and done to Cas, here, much more holding him back from feeling what he does openly.

"Cas, I'm -- fuck. Look, this isn't -- "

"Dean, did you know that the average soul breaks in hell within a week? Did you know most of them don't make it past three days?" Cas says, and Dean scoffs because maybe, sure, but  _he still broke._  A fact that, even years later, even after accepting that yeah, he's a damn good hunter and yeah, the world is still what it is thanks to him and Sam, weighs on him.

"That doesn't matter." Dean looks away. He doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want to hear that he's a good man or whatever. 

The clatter of cutlery jerks Dean's attention back to Cas, and he pauses in the middle of coming up with a snippy retort.

Castiel is angry. Fury lines his face and his eyes are sharp and his brow furrowed. His jaw is clenched tight as he grabs Dean's wrist and holds onto it.

Dean is, just a little, afraid. He is also relieved, because he's been waiting for Castiel to get mad at him, for Cas to say fuck this, I give up, you're not worth it, and it feels so fucking good to have been right, to know this was how it would end.

"No! Listen to me, Dean Winchester," Castiel growls. Dean prepares to hear the words, prepares to lock up whatever he'd begun to uncover and never think about it again. 

That's not what happens, however.

"You are going to be loved and you are going to let yourself be loved and you are going to allow yourself to love if that's what you wish," Cas says, voice low and angry. Dean blinks and fuck, that wasn't what he expected, and how can anyone, anything, love like this? Love  _him_  like this? 

After everything, he didn't think it was possible.

Then again, after everything, Cas is still here. Cas made him breakfast. That shouldn't have been possible, either.

Dean can't look away because Cas' words say that he only wants Dean to realise how much he matters and really Cas is kind of hot when he's mad and Cas hasn't gotten angry since he came to the bunker and Dean thinks  _he's not even mad at me he just wants me to understand._

Dean thinks it was a long time coming, when he sits up to lean over the table and grabs Castiel by the shirt and crashes their mouths together. Cas whimpers, a delicious sound Dean wants to swallow, and suddenly there's a frenzy in their movement, in the air, a buzzing around them. Dean's climbing onto the table, kneeing his plate aside, Cas' hand absentmindedly pushing his own plate to the side as Dean scoots closer, and he's on the fucking table, his hands fumbling for Castiel's clothing because he's so turned on by how wanted he is, how loved he is, how much he wants Castiel's love and how much Castiel wants him to take it.

Cas tugs at him, paws at his shoulders and then his hair and Dean slides off the table and onto his lap, and okay he's liked men before, he's had sex with guys before, but this is something else, this is desire lighting up all over his skin, every pore screaming for more. Judging by the noises Cas is making, he feels it too.

Dean rocks his hips, and Cas breaks the kiss to drop his head back and gasp, and shit his neck is fully exposed and Dean's eyes trace the lines of it. He presses down to kiss at his throat, feeling Castiel's very human pulse, his own matching an echoing beat. There are hands at his back, fumbling to lift his shirt and touch his skin, and then they're moving together, Cas grunting as he does his best to roll his hips up against Dean's with his entire weight on him, Dean grinding down and it's like nine in the morning and they're both already hard.

"Cas," Dean breathes. "Cas, M'so sorry, touch me, please," he says, and it's so much needier than he wanted it to be. It's happening fast, and they're frantic, but Dean doesn't stop to think about it, doesn't want to, only wants Castiel's hands all over him.

"Are you...are you sure? Dean, I don't -- I don't want you to get upset," Castiel gasps, the anger from before gone, his eyes soft and concerned even though he looks like he's barely holding back. 

So Dean kisses him, hard, and then growls into his lips.

"I mean it, you better touch me right now."

Castiel hisses and then there are hands at Dean's pants, undoing the knot of his sweatpants and then dugging the waist band down along with his underwear.

Cas takes one look before kissing Dean again, and then there are fingers wrapped around him tight and hot and a little too dry but whatever, Cas' mouth is slick against his and it feels so good to be touched by him and taste him and feel the evidence of Castiel's own arousal against his leg.

Apparently Cas is still fucking strong (or maybe he's been working out?) because he stands and holds Dean up like it's nothing, then sits him down on the table.

Only to lower himself and sink his mouth around his cock.

Dean curses loudly and then buries his fingers into Castiel's hair, and he wishes his pants were off so he could hook a leg around Castiel's shoulder, but then thoughts are thrown out of the window when Cas drags his lips along his length and sucks and shit it's like the guy's been doing this his whole life, or maybe it's because it's Cas that Dean's toes are already curling and heat twists low in his belly.

The angle is awkward for both of them, but that doesn't stop Cas as he kneels on the kitchen floor and takes Dean in as far as he can, that's pretty much all of him, and he swallows around his dick and Dean's seeing stars and mumbling his name, over and over, his hips almost moving, just barely, wanting to bury himself in the heat of Castiel's mouth but not wanting to hurt him.

Cas' tongue is running at the underside of his cock and then (he's so fucking weird) he's nuzzling at it, and it leaves a wet trail on his face and oh god oh god he can't breathe. Then Cas is licking at the slit, which drives Dean a little crazy, making his leg jerk as he barely stifles a moan.

Cas pulls away, too soon, his hand firm around him as he jerks him off, and he's pressing kisses along Dean's neck who just  _melts_  against him, breathing hard and whining his name.

"We should move this to bed," Cas rumbles low against his ear and they're the most beautiful words Dean has ever heard in his life.

"Yeah, yeah, Cas -- " Dean says, barely coherent with want and need and desire. Castiel tucks him back into his pants as best as he can and then takes Dean's hand to lead him out of the kitchen. His hand is warm and soft and Dean squeezes it tight, his heart hammering in his chest.

They fall into the bed and Dean has come down enough to think about condoms and lube.

"We need -- do you -- " He tries to ask between kisses, but he gets distracted with every meet of their lips, heated and burning against his skin. 

"I have what we need," Cas says, and Dean doesn't question it, because Castiel's hands are fighting to get clothing off him.

It takes very little time for them to strip their clothes down to nothing. Dean can't remember the last time he felt like this, feeble and feverish as fumbling fingers work at the edge of shirts and the elastic waistband of their pants. Their lips meet whenever they can, breaking only to tug shirts over heads, and without even noticing they're moving together again. Dean can feel Castiel's erection against his thigh, catching against it, and shit he wants to touch, too. He kicks off his pants and then rolls them over so he's pressed between Castiel's legs, and he has to stop for a moment to take in the way Cas is looking at him.

Cas is on his back and breathing heavily, and his cheeks are flushed and his eyes clear, like he knows exactly what's happening, like he's aware of every little thing, and Dean swallows and when he bends to kiss him it's soft, and sweet, and light.

Arms wrap around him, slow, and then he's being pulled in, close, tight, chest to chest. He can feel Castiel's heart beating just as fast as his. The kiss fades to their lips brushing together, and the movement of their hips is slower now, lazy, and Dean's hand is playing with Cas' hair at his forehead.

"You heart is beating so fast," Dean mumbles, and Cas' lips curl up in a small smile.

"You're not the only one this is important to," he says, and Dean kinda needed that reminder, and it eases his nerves. He kisses Cas again, a peck this time, and then they arch and grind together just right and clutch each other as they gasp.

"Can I?" Dean asks, his hand sliding down Castiel's chest.

"Please," he answers, and that's all Dean needs, and his eyes don't leave Castiel's as he wraps his fingers around him and gives the first few experimental jerks of his wrist. Dean watches as Castiel's eyes flutter but refuse to shut, watches as his breathing hitches, and fuck he wants to imprint that image on the inside of his eyelids.

"Dean," Cas breathes, and his arms wind around Dean's neck, pull him down, and then they're kissing again. Lips parted and tongues meeting and Cas is making little sounds under his breath and Dean is getting really turned on fast again.

"I'm here," he breathes back against Castiel's lips. He speeds up his hand but then Castiel's grip is tighter and in one swift and confusing movement he's on his back, legs spread as Castiel fits himself between them.

He's rocking his hips against him and okay, okay, Dean wants this  _now_ , wants him moving like that above him and  _in_  him, and he curses and lets out a soft sound.

"Cas, I want -- where's your -- " He starts, as Cas bends down to kiss a path up his neck.

"Drawer," he says, and Dean twists his head to look at the night table and reaches, fingers fumbling at the edge to pull it open. His hand reaches blindly and he grabs a condom, then feels for the bottle of lube. He's about to wonder what Cas has been up to, to have a bottle in there, but then there are lips closing around one of his nipples and he gasps and nearly drops the damn thing.

Dean feels Castiel's smile as his lips kiss a path to his sternum.

"Shut up and get your fingers inside me already," he mumbles, shoving the bottle of lube into Castiel's hands. 

Dean's glad Cas doesn't make him ask twice. He closes his eyes and tries to relax as he hears the lube cap come off and then snap back. He takes a deep breath, settles more comfortably against the mattress, but the truth is that his heart is beating a fucking techno beat, erratic and jumpy and too fast.

"It's going to be cold," Castiel warns, kissing at his hip bone. Dean lifts his hand to bring to Cas' hair, fingers tangling through it. He exhales, slowly, and then lets out a little yelp when a lubed finger presses at him.

There's a warm puff of air against the skin of his navel and Dean opens his eyes to see Cas is kind of laughing, and he's about to say something but then Cas keeps pressing inside and Dean has stopped breathing. Cas is watching him, and if Dean had been few years younger he might have blushed from the intensity of it.

Cas tilts his head,  _are you okay?_  and Dean nods and licks his lips,  _yeah, yeah, don't stop_. A second finger joins the first, and it's kinda been forever so it does sting a little but Dean isn't making a big deal, doesn't even grimace and just breathes, trusts.

Trusts Cas, who's careful, not slow in an agonizing way but slow enough to not hurt him, Cas who is kissing up his stomach, who's hand is rubbing soft warm circles at his hip.

"Cas," Dean breathes, and finally he moves his fingers, and oh, fuck, it's good. Like, really good. It's just fingers up his ass but they feel like the best fingers he's ever had up there, even better than his own (shut up, sometimes a guy needs something a little different), and he wants to pull Cas up to his face and kiss him on the lips then take his fingers and kiss them one by one, knuckle by knuckle.

That would be counterproductive, however, so he just lets out a sound that might, maybe, be a whimper.

It takes very little time for Cas to work Dean up to the point where he's panting. He amps up the game by licking a slow line up the underside of Dean's cock, and then his entire body twitches and he  _moans_ , and he feels like coming on the spot.

Cas' fingers are perfect, filling him and stretching him but he wants  _him,_ and he gently pushes at Castiel's shoulder to get his attention.

"Cas, Cas -- I'm not gonna last if you keep going like that," he almost wheezes, and Cas -- fuck, Cas has a smear of precome on his chin that Dean desperately wants to lick off -- raises an eyebrow, his fingers stilling. 

"So?"

Dean flounders, Castiel's response unexpected and kinda cute and hot at the same time.

"Just... get on with it!" Dean says, turning his face to bury it in the pillow, 'cause then Cas can't notice the flush of his cheeks.

The absence of fingers is strange, but knowing what will take their place makes him keep quiet. He wiggles impatiently on the bed, and then thinks to grab one of the pillows from under his head. He raises his hips from the bed as he hears the lube cap snap closed again, as Cas no doubt gets himself slick and prepared, and shoves the pillow under his lower back.

It'll be easier that way, and feel better too, and before anything else can happen Cas is kissing him again, and Dean does get to lick the pre-come off his chin, happily. It should be weird, to taste himself, or even want to, but Cas is kind of changing his perceptions about sex and what it can be and what it can mean. He never thought  _Cas_  would be the one to teach him anything about something he thought himself an expert on, but fuck, sex has never been this good.

And they haven't even gotten to the main course yet.

"Okay?" Cas says against Dean's lips. He nods, feels Castiel's hand skim down his thigh to his knee, pushing his legs a part further. He's exposed, this way, but Cas isn't looking anywhere but at his face, and only glances down when he aligns himself with a hand. Dean takes a breath, and then Cas is pushing in and Dean gasps his name.

For a while the only sound in the room is their soft breathing, Dean's little panting moans as Cas presses in until they're fitted together, flush. Dean's hand slips from Cas' shoulder to his chest, fingers dragging there lightly as he awes at the part of Castiel's lips and the flush of his neck and the flutter of his eyelashes.

As he awes that those lips and that neck and those eyelashes and that nose want him, want this just as badly as he does.

"Shit, Cas," he breathes, and then there are lips crashing against his, but Cas still hasn't moved, and the kiss is declaring how furiously and fiercely they love each other, and Dean responds to it even if it feels bruising and harsh.

That's always been how it's been between them; either bruising and cutting, sometimes smooth but never polished, never oiled. There is rust in their gears but they spin on.

"Dean," Cas says in a gasp, and for a second Dean thinks it's a sob, but he can't see right because Cas' forehead is pressing against his. He feels him shudder, and then Dean is hooking a leg around Castiel's hip.

"Yeah, I'm here, I've got you," he says, winding his arms around Cas' neck, peppering kisses along his jaw, his cheeks. His hand cups the side of Castiel's face as his kisses reach his nose. Suddenly he wishes he had the words to tell Cas how he feels, how Cas makes him feel when he's around, and the letter  _l_  stays stuck at the back of his throat.

He clears it, blinks away the burning behind his eyelids, and then Cas moves.

Dean thinks he's going to come, but he manages not to as he curses under his breath and Cas sets a pace. Cas breathes heavy and hot near his ear, as he feels a little raw but fucking  _good_ , filled and warm and safe and needed and loved and wanted, and Dean mutters soft nonsensical encouragements as Cas moans into his neck. He wants to say more, but words are hard to string together when you're barely holding yourself together, when you're unraveling at the edges.

"M'not gonna last," Dean says in a breathless laugh. Cas is fucking amazing, or maybe Dean thinks he is because he might, actually, be hopelessly in love with him.

"Good," Cas growls, and Dean thinks yeah: he is definitely in love with him.

When Dean starts arching his back into Cas' thrusts, Castiel grunts and kisses Dean, sloppy and needy, and Dean smirks and feels smug until the change of angle makes Cas hit his prostate spot on.

" _Fuck,"_  he curses, and it's Cas' turn to look smug before doing that again, spot on, and shit, Dean is tensing up and shuddering and he's so close it almost hurts. "Cas, wait, Cas -- Don't wanna -- Want to make it last," he says, clutching at him, digging his fingers into his flesh.

Cas responds by reaching between them to stroke Dean's cock, and it takes Dean about four strokes to cry out and come messily over Cas' hand and his own stomach.

He'd be embarrassed, but it takes a few more jerks of his hips for Cas to follow suit, and as Cas gasps  _Dean, Dean,_ Dean whispers into his ear, kissing at his neck as CAstiel comes, stiffening over him and grunting low at the back of his throat.

"Got you, Cas, you're amazing," he says, and he hopes Cas knows he doesn't mean just  _in bed_ , but over all, in every aspect of his existence.

Dean will make sure he knows by telling him again. And again.

Cas slumps when he's finished, only taking the time to pull out before collapsing. He's panting and sweaty but so is Dean, and it's sticky between them but who the fuck cares, because Cas' hair is curling adorably at his hairline, stuck to his moist skin. Dean reaches for a strand, curls it around his finger, and watches Cas' eyes go cross-eyed.

He laughs. Cas squints, but then his face shifts and he's grinning, a wide, gummy thing, and then he's laughing, too, and then they're kissing through laughter and holding each other and giggling like children, both stunned and pleased and sated and most of all, feeling a new level of understanding they'd been lacking before. What was once one of their many disconnects is now something new, and it lights up between them as they kiss every inch of each other's skins until they both doze off clutching each other close.


	9. well, oh, that's how we do things now.

Dean wakes up again.

His watch tells him it's almost noon. There's a dull soreness between his legs that he doesn't mind at all, and he smiles as he runs a hand over his face and rolls over.

Or he would, if Cas wasn't currently draped all over him. His arm is actually tucked around and  _under_  him, pinned under Deans lower back, and that explains some of the discomfort. He's a little too warm, too, but when he gently pushes at Castiel's arm, Cas grunts and frowns and nuzzles his face deeper into the crook of Dean's neck.

"Cas," Dean says, planting a kiss at his temple. "We should get up before the others start worrying."

"Hrngh. I think they know where we might be, Dean," Cas grumbles, his voice lower than ever, and Dean huffs laughter and then puffs hair out of his nose when some of Cas' stray strands of hair tickles at it. Okay, so they haven't been subtle, and Sam knows, and Kevin probably does, and Charlie apparently guessed.

And that's okay. Somehow that lifts a weight off of Dean's shoulders, because he hadn't thought about that, but the problem is already taken care of.

His family knows, loves him all the same, and loves Cas as if he was one of their own already.

It's kind of a dream. He's bypassing all the awkwardness of hey, meet my boyfriend, hope you guys like each other because I might wanna keep him long term.

Dean presses his face into Castiel's hair, his arm sliding around his waist, and fine, they can stay like this for a little while longer, doing what is not at all cuddling. If Sam teases them Dean will come up with something snarky to say and make Sam drop it, and really he kind of doesn't want to move anymore.

Castiel's breath is soft against his neck and tickles enough to be felt but not enough to make him squirm. When Dean strokes a hand up Cas' back he hums happily and shifts his back to direct Dean's hand where he wants it to be, and he's so cute, he's so fucking cute Dean wants to burst, wants to kiss his sleepy squint and scrunched up nose that he can't even see right now because Cas' face is right up against his neck.

He knows it's there, though.

"You've done it," Cas says, and Dean's hand stills.

"Done what?"

"Woke me up for good," Cas says. He yawns, nuzzles at Dean's collarbone, and damn, the guy's really cuddly, for someone who hasn't been human for very long. Cas' body is relaxed and flopped over his own, unlike the rigid stiffness with which he'd once held himself.

"Oops," Dean says, and Cas grunts and bites at his collarbone gently.

"Your lack of empathy is astounding," he says. Cas lifts himself up on his forearm, looking down at Dean with a scowl. "I don't like you in the morning."

Dean's eyebrows shot up, his arm sliding down Castiel's, pausing to feel at his bicep.  _Nice_.

"You don't like anything in the morning."

"Except coffee."

"Except coffee, yeah."

Dean's hand slides up Cas' arm again, and for a minute he just touches him, feels him, as his hand moves up to his shoulder and down his back to rest at his waist. Cas hasn't looked away yet, and when he leans to kiss him Dean meets him halfway.

They kiss for a little while, their legs tangled, warm under the sheets. Castiel's hand comes to cup his face, thumb stroking at his cheek, and Dean sighs against their parted lips. He's so fucking content, and all this trials stuff and fallen angels stuff seems so small and unimportant. This moment is  _his_ , and he can allow himself these, once in a while.

He wants to, and he can, and he tells himself he will, from now on.

"Dean," Cas says, and Dean opens his eyes, his hand sliding to Castiel's wrist, fingers rubbing at the skin.

"I will keep loving you whether you feel like you deserve it or not," Castiel says. Dean swallows hard, his stomach churning just a little. "I just thought I should tell you that," he adds, soft, and Dean doesn't really know what to say to that. He's afraid, because that kind of love is dangerous, that kind of love is not something he wants anyone to feel for him when he'd throw his own life away if it meant saving the ones he loves. Dean wants Cas to love someone without fear of them destroying themselves, but that's something Dean can't promise.

"Cas," he starts, taking a deep breath. He's not sure what he's about to say, and he looks up to the ceiling to gather himself. Fuck, he doesn't want to hurt him, he doesn't want to change, there's so much he's afraid of, because this wasn't just a quick lay, this wasn't a fuck on the side so he could pretend he was wanted for an hour or two. What if he changes? What if Cas changes? What if they get sick of each other? 

"Dean, hey," Cas says, patting his cheek, and Dean looks at him again, taking a deep breath. "I can see you getting lost in  _what ifs_ ," he whispers, and then kisses him, soft. "Don't you think if we were to part for good we would have already?"

And yeah, Dean guesses there's been like twenty instances where, if they'd been with anyone but Cas, he would have ended it. He  _knows_  that, but it's not strong enough to beat the fears eating at him, the ones telling him he belongs in Hell and that Castiel is so  _good_  that he'll find someone just as good eventually, and that someone will not be Dean.

"I'm scared, Cas," he says finally, swallowing the lump in his throat, and fuck he doesn't want to cry, not again, he's done enough crying over this but he's so fucking terrified of how little he thinks of himself and how much Cas thinks of him.

They're at opposites. Cas is going to be disappointed and hurt and bitter, and Dean will push him away and shit, this morning was amazing but he still can't shake how badly he knows he's gonna fuck this up.

Castiel presses a kiss to his jaw, traces it with his lips.

"Of what?" He says, and they're both talking under their breath as if not to be heard, hushed as if to keep this conversation a secret, just between them.

"Of...fucking it up. Fucking you up. Of hurting you? I guess," Dean says, clearing his throat. Cas' lips find his neck, planting soft kisses along it. "I'm a mess, Cas," he says with a humourless laugh. "Everything I touch I ruin."

"Are you forgetting who you're talking to?" Cas says, a small smile ghosting at his lips. "I destroyed Heaven. Twice."

Which Dean wants to argue with, because the Metatron thing wasn't his fault, not really. Neither was the God thing, not  _quite_ , it had been a result of bad decisions and a despair Dean could understand. When you had nothing left, sometimes you were pushed to desperate measures. He didn't want to make excuses for the guy but he just knew, now, that Cas only had others' well-being in mind.  _Their_  well-being. Dean and Sam Winchester.

"We're both messes, and I like it that way," Castiel says, tilting his head. "Don't you?"

"As long as my mess doesn't turn into your mess."

"Dean, I think it's a little too late to worry about that. You've taken me in every time, no matter how much of a mess I brought in, and in doing so you made it your own, too." Castiel's hand is at his neck now, his thumb rubbing at Dean's jaw, and ugh, it feels nice, he's warm and feels safe even if there's a tightness to his chest.

He's thinking about Metatron and the trials and Heaven. He's thinking about that conversation they had at the bar, the night it pretty much all went to shit.

"What if we fix it?"

"Fix what?" Cas frowns, and Dean swallows and looks away, because Cas is probably gonna get pissed, or insulted, or is probably going to shatter his heart right then and there.

"Heaven. Your grace," he spits out, and Cas stills and goes quiet. "What if you can go home?"

Dean closes his eyes, drops his hands from Cas so he feels free to get away if he wants. Nothing happens, though, until he hears a soft noise. It takes a second for Dean to realise that Cas is laughing, and he looks at him kind of pissed because he wasn't  _joking_ , this is something they need to talk about, because Cas is always leaving and Dean is always feeling like a part of him is gone when Cas is.

"What?" He snaps, and Cas rubs a hand at the scruff of his cheek.

"Dean, Heaven hasn't been my home in a long time.  _You_  are my home," he says, like it's nothing, again, and fuck he's really gotta tell him off for this, for constantly saying heavy things like that as if it was nothing, as if it was a given, as if saying  _duh, Dean, you should have known that already_.

Maybe he should have.

Maybe he should have fucking listened to what Cas was doing rather than what he'd been saying, because fuck knows he's done a lot of things in lieu of saying the words he meant.

Maybe he should have told him, that night at the bar, like he so badly wanted to:  _you don't have to go. you're welcome to stay with us. you can stay here. with me_. He'd been so convinced, though, that all Cas wanted was to fix Heaven and return to it, to be with his family, had never even entertained the thought that maybe Cas had made a choice, too, and had chosen a new one for himself.

"Shit, Cas," he says, and his chin trembles and he shakes his head and tries to get away, tries to turn from Cas so he can bury his face in the pillow. "I'm sorry, fuck, I never even thought -- "

There are hands on his face, and Dean stops squirming to blink up at Cas. Cas, who is looking at him like he's the brightest piece of universe he's ever seen.

"I chose to be here, Dean. I chose this. I chose you, and we're family. You said you needed me when I most needed to hear it, and now it's my turn: I need you, Dean," and yeah, fuck, Dean's going to fucking cry like a baby again, feels it in his chest and his throat and he blinks and hopes his eyes don't fill with tears.

They do, though, and he swallows and looks away because he can't stand the way Cas is looking at him, can't stand the fact that he's spent so long thinking Cas would never think of him as family.

Would never need him like Dean needs him.

"We wasted so much fucking time," he says, and his voice is rough and heavy and sounds like he's gonna cry but you know what? It's fine, because this is Cas, and this isn't the first time, and Cas' opinion of him has never changed because of something so simple as  _crying_.

Dean is starting to understand there's very little, if nothing, that could change Castiel's opinion of him.

"I know," Castiel says, and then he's kissing him, and Dean's arms reach for him again, wrap around his neck and pull him close. He can't breathe, his chest is too tight, but he doesn't want to stop so he closes his eyes and kisses Castiel until he's dizzy with it.

"Let's make up for it," Cas says against his lips, and Dean wants to say something but instead whimpers, and Cas smiles and then kisses down Dean's neck, down his chest, lower even, and for a little while Dean doesn't have to think of much else but Castiel's hands and his lips.

Afterwards, they finally drag themselves out of bed. They take a shower, touching and kissing and never straying too far from each other, and Dean thinks he hasn't seen Cas look this content since he met him. They get dressed quietly, throwing small smiles at each other, and Dean thinks he might definitely love Cas. Like, real love. It's not a punch to the gut, because Cas has been his punch to the gut for years now, Cas has been the one who's lies and betrayal hurt the most, Cas has been the one he raided Purgatory to find, Cas has been the one to make him smile and laugh and feel alive, like he matters, like he is something outside of a hunter.

Like he's worthy of Castiel's kiss as they head to the door.

"Cas," Dean says when he pulls away. Cas hums, nuzzling at his cheek, and okay, who taught him to cuddle, who taught him to be so affectionate and loving in a way that makes Dean's toes curl?

"I don't know...what I'm doing," Dean says. "So if I fuck up, just. Tell me, alright? I don't want to but I probably will and I think I'm...I think this, uh. Us. It's something, you know?" He says, and this is the worst confession in the world, this is the worst way to say  _yeah, I am kinda in love with you too_ , but Cas' eyes are wet and he's taking a deep breath and then he smiles.

"Yeah. It's something," he says. "Come on, let's have lunch."

Cas tugs him by the sleeve toward the door, and as they step into the hall their fingers brush. Dean looks down at their hands, and then Castiel's fingers are curling around his own.

"Dean," Cas says, and he looks up, and Cas is beaming, and Dean's heart melts a little. "How about we go one day at a time? Make it up as we go?"

And Dean can't help it: he smiles, too, and disentangles their fingers to take his hand in his, properly.

"Okay. Making it up as we go. I can do that."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the last chapter, guys!! my deepest, most heartfelt thanks to every single one of you, for reading and sending asks and commenting and kudos'ing, and encouraging me to keep going. i never expected this to stretch this long, but i'm so grateful for your support through it <3
> 
> i love all of you!!!


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